


Seventh Time's The Charm

by pendragonfics



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Lawyers, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mycroft Being Mycroft, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragonfics/pseuds/pendragonfics
Summary: Working for a law firm in London, Reader is an assistant and she just keeps running into him (or rather, he keeps trying to run into her).





	Seventh Time's The Charm

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from my Tumblr!

Ever since you started working for Xiao Attorneys, you had gotten to know the regular clients of your boss quite well. With a quick check of the schedule ahead of each appointment, you were able to anticipate, accommodate and elevate the expectations and needs of each person coming to meet with their attorney. You had worked hard to get to where you were - not ten years ago, you were cleaning tables at Taco Bell, and after a ton of working you way up the ladder, now, almost at the end of your law degree, you made it to your dream job. The only thing was, it wasn’t your name on the plate on the door - but after you finished your degree, acing with flying colours, you were sure to earn a place in the workplace.

That’s why you worked so hard on the clientele side of the job - when they came in, the first thing they saw, coming into the suite, was you, behind the desk (or the fancy bonsai that sat just to the left of you). You were the humanity of the company - the gatekeeper. You led them in, met their needs, and transferred them to the hands of Mrs. Xiao when they were available.

It wasn’t a bad day, most days. Most of the clients that came for their appointments were passably nice, like people are to their phones when they work accordingly to their needs. The others made you want to go home and drink your feelings in prosecco and reconsider your place of work. But today wasn’t bad. You had worked through all the kinks so far, but it was at quarter to twelve, just fifteen minutes before Mrs. Xiao’s lunchbreak, when someone entered the suites that did _not_ have an appointment.

As he entered, you wondered if his eyes darted to you first, before the bonsai, but it happened so fast, that you hadn’t a second to catch your breath before you leapt from behind the desk to meet him. He was moderately tall, with a receding hairline, and bright blue eyes. But you only had a moment to see these features of his after you stood before him, placing room between him, and the offices where Mrs. Xiao was finishing with her current client.

“I’m very sorry, sir, but to meet with Mrs. Xiao, you will need an appointment,” you spoke levelly, making sure not to offend him in any way.

He wore a suit that looked so much more expensive than your current apartment, and in his hand, was an umbrella, the fabric dry. You looked to the window, but there wasn’t any sign of rain to come at all. He smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. You’d seen his type before - the sort of person who might carefully deconstruct a pen before you, only to empty the vial of ink all over your front, for the sake of your own inferiority.

Not that _that_ had happened before.

“Not now, __________.” Mrs. Xiao spoke, her tone calm. You glanced behind to see her letting her other client from the room. With a look between her and the mysterious gentleman that had appeared without an appointment, you realised that they knew each other. “Please order my usual lunch for delivery, today.” She said, motioning for him to enter her room.

You nodded, leaving them to their talking. By the time that the sandwich place delivered the food, and you had finished organising the latest files on the new secure database, it was well after midday. Since Mrs. Xiao closed the door behind herself and the mysterious man, you had not heard a peep from them.

There was still a half hour until the next scheduled client and fuelled by the unknown and the lack of knowledge around the newcomer to Xiao Attorneys, you opened a new tab on the internet, and prepared to do a search on him. But you were stopped. You weren’t sure if it was dumb luck, or coincidence, but in the back of the photo of the current prime minister, you saw his face.

“Mr. Holmes,” you whispered, reading his name underneath the photograph. “Who might you be?”

* * *

Since that day, there have been plenty of meetings where Mr. Holmes will appear as if from thin air. At times, you wondered if he was something like Mary Poppins, arriving when those around least expect it. Other times, you wondered if he was just another rich man, draping himself around Mrs. Xiao’s suites with his influence and time for favours on her behalf. But you wouldn’t know any better, you were just one bump up from a receptionist. Since that day, Mr. Holmes had come to Xiao Attorneys five times, and, not that you were keeping track on the matter too closely, but every visit had managed to happen all in under six months. All this time, you guessed; was he an oil baron? An influential media mogul? An upper-levels government operative?

The sixth time he appeared at the offices, you anticipated it. You weren’t the world’s best secretary (according to your favourite mug) for nothing. By now, you had recognised a pattern; if there was no rain, but no national scandal, he would not come, but if there was no rain and a scandal, he would. If there was rain, and a scandal, he’d stay longer. But without any of these factors - no rain, no outrage in parliament - there was no chance you would see Mr. Holmes.

Right on eleven, he arrived, and it was then you finished plating up a cup and saucer of tea, just the way that he liked it. As soon as he entered the rooms, you stood, holding it to him.

“Thank you, __________.” He told you.

It felt strange to be on a one-way first name basis with this man - surely you were to be allowed to call him by his birthname. But he was the client, and you were the staff, and therefore he would always be _Mr. Holmes_ and your boss _Mrs. Xiao_ , and both would wield their influential power over you.  

“Not a problem at all, sir.” You smiled, leaving him to take a seat in the plush lounges in the waiting area. You returned to your workstation, adamant to keep your attention to the files that needed sending off to various members of the British legal system. But before you could dip your head back into the workflow you usually worked underneath, Mr. Holmes interrupted your thoughts, but not well enough for you to quite catch what he had spoken. “Pardon me?”

“Last time I was here, I misplaced a pen of mine.” He re-spoke, every word so carefully eloquent unlike your practiced words. He was obviously a whole social class above you, and in that moment, you almost focused on that, rather than the words he had spoken. “I was simply wondering if you knew where it ended up.”

You nodded, a reflex, your heart beating within your chest heavily. “I did find a pen after you left the suite, Mr. Holmes.” You dive into the bottom draw of the desk, near your ankle, and, from the small box labelled _lost and found_ with a post-it note, you withdrew what you thought to be the item in question. “In case this is not your pen, erm, what would distinguish it from any other?”

He lowered his teacup from his lips, the bottom _clink_ ing so softly against the china. Eyes in contact with your own, you watched Mr. Holmes’ features as he spoke, “It is a black fountain pen, six inches, gold embellishments and a ribbed design, manufactured in 1989. Engraved into the lid are three words.”

You bit your lip, looking at the pen cradled in your hands. This man, apart from everything else you knew about him, surely had the wit and memory of the greats. Instead of conceding, like anyone else would, you looked back to him, feeling daring.

“What words?” you pressured.

“ _Sine qua non_.” Even though your knowledge of Latin and other dead languages is through period dramas and slogans, you know as Mr. Holmes speaks that his accent is impeccable. “Without it.” he says.

You stand and cross the waiting area toward him. Trading the pen for the now-empty teacup, you smile his way. “Now you aren’t without it, Mr. Holmes, I’m sure you’ll be happy.” You tell him. Just as you speak, you hear Mrs. Xiao’s office door open, and silently, they both gravitate toward the available suite.

“Until next time?” you said, feeling your heart beat a little quicker. You’re not sure, but you thought you saw a small smile on his lips, fleeting, yes, but there.

* * *

You wouldn’t have done it unless it was for the end of the world, but it was (to you), and ever since you’ve taken your weeks’ worth of saved-up sick leave to care for your cat’s new litter of mewling babies, you’re wrought with feelings that you had no clue that you had before. It was raining, and, when you flicked the television on in the apartment, you read the headlines at the bottom of the news program’s frame. A scandal. Not a large one, but one nonetheless, and it made you so upset. You were always at work, and now, when your silly cat just had to go and find a tomcat to fall in love and get pregnant with, you’re left playing the second parent to your new fur babies.

“Marmalade, you absolute prat,” you muttered to the cat beside you.

But Marmalade didn’t respond.

She was just a cat. A cat who couldn’t care less for your strange relationship with your place of work and your clientele. She was a cat, and one who’d delivered four healthy kittens, at that. From the box in your lap, they mewled with their newfound voices. You still couldn’t believe that it had been three days since your first day off, and that they were so very new. What would you do with them? You could hardly afford Marmalade.

It was then that the doorbell rang, and you nearly jumped from out of your skin. You rarely had visitors - your friends from around the city would rather meet up at a coffee house rather than your small place, and your parents lived far enough away that a day-trip was out of the question.

Keeping the runt of the litter close to your chest, you paced toward the entrance of your apartment, and, without a spyhole, you opened it to greet your unexpected visitor.

Upon seeing him, you felt like it was a _very_ unexpected visit. Mr. Holmes stood there, as tall and as poised as usual, except, this time it wasn’t in a well-lit upper-level office suite in the CBD of London, but rather, the less-fortunate area where you could make rent. The walls were touched with mould, smelt of water, but with him there, it felt like an unfair juxtaposition of the both of your lives.

“Mr. Holmes!” you exclaim, shocked, stepping aside for him to enter your… _homely_ abode. “To what do I owe -,”

He shook his head. “I am not one for lack of formality, __________, but after getting to know you, I found myself in a position of which made me realise that I had developed feelings. Toward you.”

You blinked, unsure if you were actually hearing the words, or if you had fallen asleep on the lounge and this was all a dream that you had concocted out of wishful thinking. But as much as this felt like that part in _Pride and Prejudice_ where Mr. Darcy tells Jane he loves her ‘most ardently’, you had to remember that this was all real.

“Mr. Holmes -,” you whispered, unsure what to say. “I-,”

He nodded. “I don’t expect you to respond. I know it is unprofessional of me, as a client of your boss, but those visits were unnecessary. I came to meet with Beryl Xiao with the goal to speak to you.” He looks to his feet, and to the box on the lounge, full of newborn cats. “I - will let you resume your afternoon.”

You shake your head, reaching for him. As your hand touched his elbow, he paused. “Mr. Holmes,” you whispered. “I’m not that great at realising things beyond my own nose, but…I do know that I share those feelings that you have.” The cat in your hands cries out, and both of your eyes look to it, sighing, you give it a kiss, and place it back in the box on the lounge. “I don’t mind that you’re a client. I know what I feel.”

“Please,” he says, voice soft. “Call me Mycroft.”

You laugh quietly, under your breath. “Hello, Mycroft,” you reply, feeling giddy all of a sudden. You make the distance between the both of you shorter, and, closing in the distance, you meet your lips with his. As you break apart, you feel Marmalade intertwining between the both of your legs, and you chuckle. “You wouldn’t happen to know, on the off chance, anyone who would like kittens?”

A smile crossed his face. “I’m sure my brother and his friends wouldn’t say no to one.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr on as @chaotic--lovely, and if you want to request a fic, check out [@pendragonfics](https://pendragonfics.tumblr.com/request_conditions)! ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
